Clockwork
by Mage-Alia
Summary: Once upon a time a man built a machine that could pass as a human. It linked to his life force to run. But what happened when that life force ran out? The Clockwork man waited... and waited... and waited...


Disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to other people. I'm just playing in the sandbox for shits and giggles.

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A Sherlock One-Shot

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Clockwork

By: Mage-Alia

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Summary : Once upon a time a man built a machine that could pass as a human. It linked to his life force to run. But what happened when that life force ran out? The Clockwork man waited... and waited... and waited...

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The day he died. His heart stopped.

The part that beat was lost and when it happened, the clockwork mechanism that sustained him slowed and slowed... and finally, sitting in the armchair with the union jack pillow he stopped.

Frozen and still he sat in the chair oblivious to the light of the sun peeking through the curtains and moving across the floor, oblivious to when Mrs Hudson came in and found him unmoving. Oblivious to when she called Lestrade and Lestrade told her, disbelievingly what he was.

"Clockwork." The inspector pulled away Johns shirt after a short time looking, revealing a small clockwork gear with a keyhole visible above his heart. "It's a wonder he was always with Sherlock then. Why would anyone else want to be with him? Sherlock probably made him as a companion. Probably had the key with him when he..." Lestrade trailed off, abruptly realizing what he'd been about to say. "Anyway, I'd best be off to the station, cases won't solve themselves." He gave one last despairing look at the figure on the chair and excused himself with a heavy sigh.

Mrs Hudson made her way over to the chair opposite John's and sat down, putting her head in her hands as she dried her own tears.

"Well, I guess I know what you feel like." She finally said after a long moment of silence. John of course, didn't answer. "There's no excitement anymore. It's like the world turned grey when he died." And then it was like he was still capable of talking back because she got to her feet, steeling herself as she pat his leg and started to bustle around the kitchen.

"Well, what a mess you've let this place become." She scolded him as she looked at the kitchen she hadn't seen since Sherlock had... "I'll have to clean it all over again but just this once dear I'm not your house keeper." And with that said she started to clean, denying that John had stopped, muttering every now and then about finding his key and getting him moving again...

But the trouble was...

John had never had a key.

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Mrs Hudson never did rent out the flat.

Stubbornly insisting that there was still a tenant even if he wasn't moving. Mycroft had been paying her rent eyeing John every time he appeared there looking stressed and tired, like he'd finally had to do all the legwork that Sherlock had been so convenient for in the past. He'd taken to musing to John, going over his thoughts to the only being that could listen in complete silence and a stare back unflinchingly when he told him all the nasty things he'd done. He'd stay for hours till Mrs Hudson came to shoo him away so she could clean.

Mycroft wasn't the only visitor.

Lestrade would sometimes visit as well. Often times in much the same way Mycroft did he'd use him as a sounding board for cases in the hope he'd come alive and give him an answer like Sherlock might have, like he'd suddenly open his mouth and Sherlock's voice would emit, telling him he was stupid and going into a litany of facts.

But he didn't and Lestrade would leave just as upset and confused as he came.

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Years passed.

About six years after Sherlock's fall Mrs Hudson fell ill and died, Mycroft had been willed the flat and its contents and after many years of sitting there John was finally moved. Placed in a room in the Holmes ancestral hall he was at first treated like an odd guest and finally, after the novelty had worn off he was left forgotten. Ten more years passed, Mycroft eventually gave in and had children but no one remembered the short clockwork man seated in the guest room by a desk, like he'd been writing on the old typewriter that sat there before he'd been caught up by something outside the window and stopped to stare.

Then, one day, without so much as a by your leave, John blinked once, twice...

And stood up from the chair.

He started at the dusty room in which he'd woken and wondered idly if he'd been kidnapped again.

Scratching his head he tried the door and found it unlocked.

Walking with a hitched step he traversed the halls and as his foot hit the landing of the stairs to the next floor all the warning he had was a sharp gasp before someone screamed!

"NANNY! THERE'S A STRANGE MAN IN THE HOUSE!"

John nearly leapt out of his skin as he turned to see a little dark haired boy with wide grey eyes staring back at him with an angry frown and a petulant look as what appeared to he his sister ran screaming down the hall. John blinked a few times, shook his head, and held out his hand to shake.

"Hello. I'm John Watson." He said in his most polite doctor's voice and then asked. "Where am I?"

The boy raised an eyebrow in such a way that he startlingly resembled- "Ah, Sheringford, please do go find your sister. I believe it would be best to introduce you both to our guest." John looked up and found a much older, Mycroft Holmes.

"Ah." Was all John said. "I stopped again didn't I."

It wasn't a question.

For a moment Mycroft looked startled but the expression was soon veiled in apathy.

"If you are referring to when your gears wound down, then yes indeed, you stopped." The older man eyed him over speculatively. "Which also begs the question of where is your Key, and how did you wind up again?"

John just stood calmly, his back straight and his gaze steady.

"I don't have a key."

And once again Mycroft looked startled.

"Then, the question would be... why are you awake?"

Now that question? That was Easy.

"Because he needs me? Why else?"

Why else indeed.

Because there had been many versions of the man named Sherlock Holmes. Not all of them were the same. But John always knew where he was... and when he'd been needed again... and the gears wound up and he'd go forth and begin a new life in a world that was always a little bit different from the last one, until Sherlock Holmes (... or whatever new name he earned for himself) blazed into his life once more.

Mycroft Holmes wore an inscrutable look on his face as he stared past John, down the hallway, to where his children were approaching once more. His daughter was dragging her Nanny behind them while his son marched determinedly in the lead, grey eyes fixed on the clockwork man beside him.

Finally, he sighed.

"Do try to keep him out of trouble."

John gave him a tired looking smile and nodded.

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A/N: Hua!~ Surprise.

I've been going through my archive of short stories for stuff to post. This is a oneshot, so don't expect a continuation. People are by all means welcome to take the idea and run with it if they'd like. (Just link your story back to me, I'd like to read it at least if you do... XD)

This story was written based on the idea of John, being a Clockwork person, but nobody knew. He doesn't have a key to wind up his gears but he works anyway cause he's linked to Sherlock, who somehow built him many reincarnations ago and didn't remember doing so. John never tells him that they've already been acquainted with each other, but he does enjoy making friends with him over and over again.

It's a little idea that ended up being written down anyway. XD

Don't forget to review.

Cya

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P.S: This is being cross-posted to Ao3 under my Auraion account. Don't panic if you see it there. :P


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